


Merry Christmas, Darling

by LelithSugar



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Established Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, Established Relationship, Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Romance, Singing, Tinselwank 2019, actual spy stuff, angst for about two minutes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:13:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21838774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LelithSugar/pseuds/LelithSugar
Summary: Sending someone a song for Christmas when they're in a war zone doesn't count as "communication," does it?
Relationships: Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin
Comments: 21
Kudos: 118





	Merry Christmas, Darling

**Author's Note:**

> If you don't know Merry Christmas Darling by The Carpenters, I suggest having a listen before you read.
> 
> Missing people at Christmas sucks balls; this year's been horrendous; please enjoy this first of my little Christmas offerings to try to spread a little cheer.

Merry Christmas, Darling.

It is the 24th of December.

It is nothing other than the 24th of December for Harry Hart, active as Galahad: the date is a number on the calendar and nothing more. International politics does not observe holidays or festivities. They do  not observe the fact he was due home six weeks ago either but that’s by the by. He’s close to his target now, perhaps even would have been close enough to make his move had he not been cornered into the tiny safety bolthole he’s been in for nigh on seven hours. His clothes are itching; his mouth dry with silence: he’s had only inbound audio comms for six days.

It doesn’t matter. They all know what he needs to do. He’s just waiting for his moment, and his nerve.

In his queit, practiced boredom Harry has listened to every fragment of life stored in his link: his briefing; the distilled minutes of the last tech meeting; half a Mo Hayder audiobook that’s inexplicably corrupted on an irritating cliffhanger; bits and pieces of music, a couple of memos. Merlin’s voice has been a comfort, up until a point, but Harry will die without ever telling him.

A file pings in and Harry pounces on it, shifting to a comfortable crouch in case he has to listen, in case he has to move. The first sound he hears drops him straight back onto his aching knees, a bloom of unexpected sharp longing in his chest: Eggsy’s laugh.

“Dunno if this is gonna work. Think it’s recording…” There's a click, a small thud, and a single ringing note as Eggsy settles his hands. “I’m a bit drunk.” If he’s at the stage of pointing out that he’s drunk, he’s  _ slaughtered,  _ but he’s chuckling with it and Harry’s never felt a sound embody the word  _ merry _ under his ribs before. Suddenly he understands it better than he ever has. Back in the UK it’ll be the early hours of Christmas morning and by the sounds of it Eggsy’s swapped the spiced rum and coke he’ll have been on all day at his mum's for the scotch in the decanter by the piano.  _ ”  _ But you ain’t allowed to laugh.”

In the pause, Harry settles his panic. There’s no comms line open: a pre-recorded MP3 is far easier protected by Kingsman’s systems and it’s there, now, whether it should be or not. His location is secure as it can be, as it has been whilst he’s wiled half a day listening to all sorts of nonsense. He can listen to this. 

“ _ Greeting cards have all been sent, _ _  
_ _ The Christmas rush is through, _ _  
_ _ But I still have one wish to make, _ _  
_ _ A special one for you…” _ He takes a loud breath and Harry can see Eggsy with his eyes closed, the jut of his chin, the way he tosses his head as he sings when he gets into it. Has he rehearsed this? Has he been waiting to serenade Harry by a crackling fire, or did he choose this song because he knew that was a lofty dream? It aches before he even hears Eggsy's unexpectedly rich croon wrap around the chorus.

“ _ Merry Christmas, Darling, _ _  
_ _ We're apart that's true... _ _  
_ _ But I can dream, and in my dreams _ _  
_ _ I'm Christmasing with you _ … I know  _ christmassing  _ ain’t a word, Harry, don’t come at me.”  There’s the clink of ice in crystal and Eggsy plays three bars of improvisation to count himself back in, one handed if the scale and the drink is anything to go by. God, but Harry loves him.

“ _ Holidays are joyful _ _  
_ _ There's always something new _ _  
_ _ But every day's a holiday _ _  
_ _ When I'm near to you...  _ Chance of an actual holiday would be a fine thing, innit. Don't even know where you are. You better not come back with tan lines, Harry, swear down..." He clears his throat, bringing it back to its drink-and-smoke husk to continue.

_ "T _ _ he lights on my tree _ _  
_ _ I wish you could see _ _  
_ _ I wish it every day _ _  
_ _ Logs on the fire _ _  
_ _ Fill me with desire _ … steady on, hey?…  _ To see you and to say _ __  
_ That I wish you Merry Christmas... _ _  
_ _ Happy New Year too… _ You’d better have your arse back in this bed by new year, swear to fucking god-“ and yes, he’s worried obviously but there’s a grit to his voice, the choice of  __ bed as where Harry needs to be specifically feels weighted. It's not exactly the principal concern at this moment but Harry can sympathise.

_ “I've just one wish on this Christmas eve..."  _ Harry takes a deep, steadying breath with the melody to steel himself because he can hear the threat of tears in Eggsy's throat and can't afford his own. 

_ "I wish I were with you. _ ” He finishes the piano melody with a flourish. “Wherever you are. But here’s probably better, let’s face it. Get your arse home in one piece. Love you.”

Harry waits, but that’s all. There’s no slice of his life in Eggsy tripping over the dog or swearing at whatever device he was recording on, nothing more to give Harry that much needed taste of home that suddenly feels so much further away, but so close he can taste the mulled wine spice off Eggsy’s tongue.

With a sharp sigh, Harry rams the magazines into both of his guns, pulls down his goggles and hurls himself out of the door.

***

Harry scrapes his return into the last day of December on a prayer, and by the time he's in a cab from the shop to their house it's gone half past eleven. If the cab weren't one of theirs and able to circumvent certain logistics and legalities he'd not have a hope of getting home in time; hasn't really slept worth much for around 36 hours but it's worth it to sneak in under the radar in the chaos of everyone trying to pretend they're normal people who can observe Bank Holidays and attend parties with whatever friends and family they have to see the New Year in, to ditch the car on the corner before the lights are visible from the end of the street and sidle through the shadows to surprise the lover he hasn't seen for nearly five months.

And before he can turn his key, Eggsy opens it from the other side. 

"I-" Harry's dramatic entry evaporates like champagne bubbles, because Eggsy is in full tuxedo, holding two flutes of the good sparkling stuff.

He was about to say he'd done his best, that he'd tried to do as instructed and just about made it, but of course Eggsy was two steps ahead and of course none of that matters because Eggsy kisses him, long and deep and absolutely perfect even though he's dripping champagne down Harry's aching back.

"Eggsy, I-"

"Oh, get inside, we're missing Jules Holland."

**Author's Note:**

> Please do drop me a heart, comment or note if you enjoyed. Got a festive sackful of WIPs and suddenly run out of steam so maybe that’ll help! You can also hit me up @agentsnakebite on Twitter.


End file.
